It hell. It's all hell. Everything is hell. Everywhere is hell. Am I just here to fill up space? I'm lonely, and nobody seems to care about that, except maybe two to three people. But they don't know why, do they? No they don't. They never talk to me, so how should they know? It's all just nothing but pain, leading to hell, and even more pain. My soul is littered ugh hatred and no one could care enough to see it. That serves me. I'm useless, and my only dream now is for death to come quick and painless. Like a bullet to the brain, or an explosion right in front of me, or something worse, much worse.
That's my life. Started out fine, I was doing well, then it just went down and never even tried to pull up. I'm an insomniac, never getting sleep til three or so. And I guess this isn't really helpful to that, now is it?
YOU ARE READING
The Life of Me pt.1
Non-FictionThis is my life, and the pain that comes with it. My story, and the loneliness that rides on it. This is the other side of StolenGiant, and there isn't a way back from it. So if you want to hear on how sucky my life is, read it. I honestly don't car...
